DRAGON'S HEARTSTRINGS || dramione | harry potter

Chapter Eighteen

"May I take a look at your wounds?"

"No."

"Just a tiny little glimpse—"

"No."

"I would cast only one simple healing spell to help you heal faster—"

"Granger, I'm not moving a single muscle to disturb this position, not as long as you're here with me."

Hermione smiled softly. They were lying on their sides in his bed still, with their faces turned to one another, their bodies mostly naked under the duvet and their fingers entwined. They had spent in this bed perhaps for twelve hours and they lay in this exact position for at least tow of them. Hermione had scrutinized his facial features until she was sure she would recognize him only from a single look; her fingers had explored practically every inch of his upper body save for the back until she was sure she could recall it even when blind. She touched the frown on his face, kissed the corners of his lips with attentive care, caressed the scar that marred his face until he closed his eyes with vulnerability, brushed over the skin of his muscular arms, carefully avoiding the Dark Mark. He, in turn, analyzed her body with equal meticulousness: kissing every freckle on her body (there were a lot), squeezed and pressed her flesh, staking the claim he stated to have on her the first time they had sex. His favorite parts were still her hair (no matter what he did, he always seemed to have one hand entangled in it) and her breasts (which he gave his exclusive attention to frequently and which were, satisfyingly, Hermione's most sensitive area). Mostly, when they didn't have sex, he stared deeply into her eyes with that ferocious possessiveness which she found herself enthralled by. His eyes were deep, intense, and claiming, and Hermione was consecutively unable to look away from him.

In those twelve hours, they had a similar conversation to this one multiple times and it always ended the same – whenever Hermione wanted to treat the runes on his back, he would answer with a growl, pulling her body closer to his; whenever she tried to get out of bed and do something else, like cook food for him, or make more healing potions that they were beginning run out of, or send a Patronus to Hogwarts to make sure everything was in order there, he would immediately get up to follow her, so she had to stay in bed if she wanted him to lay there too and heal properly.

But she understood perfectly well why he didn't want for her to be away from him – because she didn't want to be away from him too.

"Okay then," she said, snuggling closer to him. She was still quite worried about his wounds but she knew that the worst of it was already in the past, and he claimed her kisses made him feel better, so she only did more of the kissing.

He readily accepted her, reaching his arms out to hug her tightly. Her face was in his chest as she breathed in his scent.

"So that's why you married me," she mumbled light-heartedly into his skin. She hadn't felt so peaceful for at least six years and the calmness that suddenly filled her heart made her feel like she was high.

"What?" he mumbled back sleepily.

She looked up at him. "You know. That's why you married me, right?"

He frowned. "You think I did it to fuck you?"

"Well, why else?"

His frown deepened. "Do you really believe I wouldn't have gotten you to my bed if I truly wanted? Do you think I needed to marry you to do that?"

Hermione smiled, unwilling to keep the conversation serious. "Will you ever tell me why you did it then?"

All he said was, "No," as he snuggled her back to her previous positioned and she reveled in the closeness of their bodies.